


Dead Bats and Clowns

by thepalewalker



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Deadpool - All Media Types
Genre: #I try to make Deadpool not annoying, #I write a friendly Bruce, #am i doing a good job, #battletoads and nachos, #crossover, #everyone's kind of out of character at the moment idk, #im confused, #suggestions welcome, #under editing, #why is this so serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-07-11 09:22:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15969422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepalewalker/pseuds/thepalewalker
Summary: “Mr. Wayne, this is Wade Wilson, a resident at Arkham.”Bruce was very good at hiding his surprise, but he allowed himself a few extra blinks in his surprise. He had to wonder why they chose this man as the face of Arkham’s patients. His skin looked as if it was falling off in places, scarred and malformed, and all of his hair had fallen out, save for a few hairs that made him look like an under-cooked meatball someone dropped on the floor. And that was a gentle description.“Hiya, uh-…” He leaned over to his escort. “Should I call him Mr. Wayne, maybe ‘sir’, or-”“Bruce is fine, if I can call you ‘Wade’.”





	1. In Which the Ride Begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested listening:  
> "Crazy Waltz" für Akkordeon, Geige und Schreibmaschine  
> Jenny Lind Polka by Saul Rose  
> A Wink and a Smile by Harry Connick Jr.  
> Strangers in the Night by Frank Sinatra  
> These Boots Were Made For Walking by Nancy Sinatra
> 
> Compiled playlist for Chapter 1:  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8X_UbbTRrY3U8fYy54ObVWEASU0CVqlj

Bruce Wayne pretended to take a sip of his champagne, sighing as he looked over the well-dressed crowd that bickered and bragged and puffed out their chests like damn peacocks. His own suit was meticulously tailored, clean and pressed, and his hair was swept over with the traditional “playboy charm” he was famous for.

But he hated this. He hated all of this. Suits, no matter how comfortable, might as well have been strait-jackets. He much preferred the gentle weight of his armor, the way his cowl pressed onto his skull, and the familiar flutter of his cape around his feet. How he had ever lived without being Batman, he had no idea. 

He inwardly groaned as a woman slunk up to him, her dress dripping off of her shoulder. A gazelle draped in pearls, with how long her neck was, how thin her skin was stretched over her bones, and how much jewelry she had managed to drape around her neck.

“Why, Mr. Wayne, it’s an absolute pleasure,” she drawled, lifting her wine to her lips.

“Yes, Mrs…?”

The woman tittered a bit. “Miss Robin Tucker. You know, you’re quite the philanthropist, Mr. Wayne. Arkham has been needing a good charity event, with all of the escapes recently. I’ve been just terrified, rising crime rates and all.”

“Indeed. I’ve been overlooking the needed funding for a while. I hope this will remedy that.” Bruce’s tone was cold and sharp. He was much more friendlier with other people, for public image, but he could spot a gold digger a mile away. And he hated them. So much. So much time wasted. 

The woman chuckled some more, a snorting sort of sound that grated Wayne’s ears. “I met the patient they brought in for representation, ‘cause of his ‘remarkable progress’. Honestly, he didn’t seem remotely sane. All loopy-like and things.”

Bruce ‘harrumphed’ a bit. “I didn’t think they’d actually-… Huh.”

“Bad idea in general, he was quite rude. Sorry that you have an interview with him, Mr. Wayne. Can- can I call you Bruce?”

“No, Mr. Wayne is fine.” An interview. Interesting. Bruce couldn’t help but prickle for the fact that he wasn’t informed of this before-hand. He took a sip from his glass, brushing away the woman’s struck expression. “Lovely speaking to you, must be going.”

It was a few more minutes of hustle and bustle, with the traditional rich-party talk. Bruce did his best to enjoy himself, catching up with some of his older pals, but he couldn’t help feeling a disconnect, even more than usual.

Before he had become Batman, he had been cut off from the working man in a way he couldn’t bridge. He had been well-kept and provided for his entire life. The death of his parents also set him apart, the rich orphan, living alone his entire life. And then, once he donned the cowl, his past life was slaughtered entirely. These faces, so familiar, yet so distant. All of his old buddies that he had frolicked with-… They remained the same, while he had been cut away.

Which was a shame. He had fond memories of them all. Their smiles and laughs were untouched by time and tragedy.

However, he was now better equipped to connect with the people of Gotham, the common men, in ways he just couldn't before. His time training, traveling the world, it had taught him more than just the skills of combat.

It wasn’t long before one of the staff, touched his shoulder, urging him over to the area with the most cameras set up, along with a cue-screen. Of course, he couldn’t be trusted to make up his own questions. Maybe if they had TOLD him, he could-

“Mr. Wayne, this is Wade Wilson, a resident at Arkham.”

Bruce was very good at hiding his surprise, but he allowed himself a few extra blinks in his surprise. He had to wonder why they chose this man as the face of Arkham’s patients. His skin looked as if it was falling off in places, scarred and malformed, and all of his hair had fallen out, save for a few hairs that made him look like an under-cooked meatball someone dropped on the floor. And that was a gentle description.

His eyes were the textured, electric blue of butterfly wings, and his smile was like a kiss in the dark. He was wearing a nice suit and tie, but he looked obviously uncomfortable in it.

“Hiya, uh-…” He leaned over to his escort. “Should I call him Mr. Wayne, maybe ‘sir’, or-”

“Bruce is fine, if I can call you ‘Wade’.”

Wade lit up, nodding enthusiastically, and Bruce couldn’t help but be infected by his smile.

“Man, check all the fancy shit out! Haven't been to one of these in a while”

“You used to go to charity events and such?”

“Well, I'd drop in for a few minutes, piss in a few chocolate fountains before they would kick me out.”

Bruce snorted with laughter, almost spilling his drink at that. “That’s cruel!” Then, in horror, he looked at his glass of champagne. “You-… You haven’t-”

Wade looked at him in mock disbelief. “Shame on you, I’m a model patient now! I’d never.” They both chuckled a bit.

“But don’t try to tell me you haven’t caused a bit o' chaos here and there at these. I mean, gag me with a spoon, this is boring.”

Bruce considered it with a smirk. “Well, there was this time-”

“Mr. Wayne, Mr. Wilson! We’re about to start recording!”

“Ah, later then-” Wade and Bruce were both shuffled over to the area that had been set up for the interview, and they were sat down beside each-other, the reporter facing them.

Bruce stared at the live program that was playing silently next to the camera, only for a moment, before the woman that was interviewing them nodded to the cue of the camera-man.

“Yes, Sharon. We’re here at the Arkham Charity Ball with Bruce Wayne himself and local Arkham resident Wade Wilson. How are both of you tonight?”

“I’m doing wonderful. Lovely crowd of generous people tonight.” Wayne flashed his press-smile. Wade glanced at him for a second before turning back to the reporter and flashing an almost identical smile.

“Arkham has been without necessary funding for a while now, Mr. Wayne. What suddenly drove you to fund this event?”

“I’d have to say it was the recent breakout of the Riddler. His bombing of the Gotham Bank injured one of my employees, and I realized that we need better security and care to be able to keep these people in the place where they can receive the treatment they need.”

“A wonderful sentiment, Mr. Wayne. And Wade Wilson, you are currently a patient at Arkham. How would you describe your experiences in the asylum?”

“The food’s awful. Can’t get them to serve Mexican as much as I pester. Lots of alone time, too. Doctors are alright, but the cafeteria gets out of control a lot of the time, aren’t enough guards to keep the loonies in line.”

“And the extra funding from this event will help hire more staff, improve food quality, and provide more activities for the inmates, right, Mr. Wayne?”

“That’s right. Better security as well, as I was saying.”

“That’d be great, you know. With the bigger bads, Arkham’s basically a revolving door, and I haven’t been able to sit Joker down for a friendly chat in ages!”

Bruce and the reporter gave Wade a curious look.

“You talk with the Joker, Mr. Wilson?” The reporter gave him a gentle smile.

“Not as much now. But he told me I’m a ‘joke with no punchline’, so I'm sure he adores me.”

Wayne chuckled a bit at this. Dear Wade Wilson was the self-deprecating type. It was charming, and more than that, it was honest. A rare thing to see in the world Bruce was familiar to.

There was a bit more before they were both shuffled off, Wayne by the natural tides of the hungry crowd, and Wilson by his assigned escorts back to Arkham. It was a shame that they could only exchange a quick wave of farewell across the room. 

By far the most memorable thing of the night.

The next time Batman went to Arkham, to check up on a few of his favorite villains, he casually asked to see the file of Wade Wilson, and he read it once he had some spare time.

Wade Wilson. Apparently, he had just appeared naked, screaming in the streets one day. He raided a few hot-dog stands before some police-men attempted to arrest him for public indecency. There was a conflict where he took out the three armed officers and began sprinting off. Eventually, he was caught, and once interrogated, he appeared to have no memory of the city he was currently in. All of the history of Gotham seemed unfamiliar to him, and he kept babbling about being “Goddamn Wade Wilson, the Merc with a Mouth,” along with other self-declared titles. 

He was quite the trouble-maker in Arkham, constantly getting into fights, attempting to escape, and often succeeding to go onto a spree of bizarre crimes. None of the medications they prescribed seemed to have any effect on his cocktail of mental-illnesses.

Then, one day, he quieted down. He hadn’t had any new medications prescribed, or anything else remarkable that could explain it, but he simply just stopped resisting treatment. He made so much improvement so quickly, that the doctors decided to have him as the face of the asylum.

In fact, he was on the track of being released, maybe in a few months to a year or so.

Bruce smiled at that. Wade seemed like a good man.

__

A few months before:

The Joker sat slumped at one of the cafeteria tables. Usually, he was served his meals in the privacy of his cell, as he preferred, but his new doctor thought that making friends or something of that ridiculous veins would help him.

And so, a guard stood behind him with a taser prepped in case he tried anything. 

What was even the point of sending him out to “socialize” if no one even talked to him? Of course, no one in Arkham was stupid enough to-

“Oh my God, it's Pennywise! I'm kidding. You're the Joker, right?”

The clown looked up at the man who had sat across from him. Wow, God had not been kind to him. His face was on the cringing side of ugly, definitely. Was that exposed muscle tissue? Nice touch, nice touch.

“I’ve got green hair and white skin, Georgie, you tell me.”

“I’ve been hearing a lot about you, and I gotta say, love the aesthetic.”

The Joker was almost taken aback. This man was addressing him casually, friendly, almost like an equal. It was unusual when he was used to either being feared or hated or fawned over by anyone he met.

He grinned after a second. “Thank you, sorry I can’t say the same.”

“What I lack in appearance, I make up for in performance.” The man made sure to lace the statement with innuendo that made Joker smirk.

“And what do they call an ass wipe like yourself?”

“Deadpool. Or Wade. Doctors say I'm just Wade, but I claim a misdiagnosis.”

The Joker’s smile stretched a little wider. Delusionals were fun, when they could be manipulated. 

“What sort of life did you have as ‘Deadpool’?”

This made Wade light up like a tree at Christmas. “Oh, I was the damn coolest. A mercenary, a hero! I have this awesome healing factor, so I didn't have to worry about anything!”

The Joker leaned a bit over the table. “Do you still have your healing factor?”

“Yeah, I tested it out by breaking my arm over my bed banister.”

Anyone could lie about that, but-… Smirking, the clown pushed his fork across the table to Wade. “Prove it.”

Wade snatched up the fork, and drawing it back, he stabbed it into his hand. But he didn’t make a sound, no sign of pain, save for the twitching of his fingers. Then, he pulled it out, laying it on the table.

“Give it, like, twenty seconds.”

And true to his word, after a few moments of tense silence, Wade grabbed a napkin and dabbed up the blood, revealing-… Nothing. No wound, only the scars that covered the entirety of the man’s body.

“How much can you heal from?”

“Anything. Probably. I mean, I haven't died yet.”

The Joker stared incredulously for a bit, before smiling again. “That seems quite, quite useful,” he mused to himself. Wade seemed exactly the kind of pawn that would be extremely influential, if handled correctly. The kamikaze pilot that would rise from the ashes of the towers.

“Do you want to get out of here, Deadpool?”

“As much as I want to kill myself at family reunions.”

“I’m quite… Influential here in Arkham. I could arrange some outings for you, as long as you do something for me each time you get out.”

“I suppose I could. Would I get paid?”

“Anything you collect on your own time is yours to keep.”

“Sweet! I’m going to rob at least seven Taco Bells.”

The Joker chuckled once more. He supposed Wade was at least more tolerable than most. Interesting, and quirky. This was going to be fun.

"Sure, sure. Just try to be quiet, do what the doctors say. They'll relax your security and make it easier on my part."

"Can do, Nickelwit."


	2. In Which Batman Fights Deadpool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yOU wanna tell me my stuff sucks and what to change? DO IT I LOVE THAT
> 
> Suggested Listening:  
> Tubthumping by Chumbawamba  
> Without Me by Eminem  
> Pumped Up Kicks by Foster the People  
> You Gotta Fight For Your Right To Party by the Beastie Boys  
> Batman Theme (1966) by Neal Hefti  
> Rasputin by Boney M.
> 
> Compiled Playlist:  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8X_UbbTRrY08BHGdQjldPErB_vZWAckG

The Batman’s first encounter with Deadpool was a memorable one. 

He had gotten reports of gunshots in the streets downtown, and so he donned the cape and cowl, barreling down on the incident like a falcon diving for its prey. He skidded around the corner, but had to suddenly swerve as a barricade of furniture appeared before him. It was too late to avoid impact, so Batman ejected out of the vehicle, leaping over the barricade before the Batmobile slammed into it, then through it, shards of wood spraying everywhere. Batman landed with his usual strength and grace.

The Batmobile skidded for a few feet before coming to a shaky halt.

Behind the barricade, it looked like most of the street had been taken to with a baseball bat. Glass freckled the concrete like confetti, cars had been tipped over onto their sides, and there was a generous amount of red spray-paint around everything, in swirls, obscene phrases, and smiley-faces. 

With the amount of litter, candy-bar wrappers, fast food wax paper, cups and paper plates, it looked like there had been a large amount of people here just a while ago, but while Batman walked through the chaos of the street, there was only dead silence.

Except for a slight hiss of paint being sprayed from a can.

Batman turned to see a man spray-painting his car. His hand twitched towards his utility belt, but he couldn’t help but be curious, wanting to pause before he rushed in, fists flying.

The man continued for a second, drawing a circle, crossing it down the middle, then adding ovals on each side. “There! Red certainly does the black good.”

He turned, and Batman finally got a good look at him. He was wearing a red and black jumpsuit that covered all of his head, with black around the eyes, and his eyes were covered by a white film. He had a dark gray trench coat that had been spray-painted with toxic green designs over its back, mostly “Ha Ha” or smiles with too many teeth. Around his waist was a belt that resembled Batman’s own, and two katanas poked out of the neck of his coat.

“Aw, sorry, just thought you wouldn’t want to look out of place.”

“Are you responsible for all of this?”

“You could say that. I’m supposed to get your attention, so here we are!” He raised his arms with a flourish.

Get his attention? So this was all a distraction. For what?

“Who are you working for?”

“It's more of a back-scratching deal, feel me?”  
Batman tensed up his fists, starting to stalk up to the man so he could beat the information out of him. The red-clad stranger leaped onto the Batmobile before flipping back onto the barricade of mishmash furniture, landing squarely on a comfortable arm chair that still stood erect after the Batmobile had driven through the better half of it.

“I’m being attacked by an awful man! Won’t anyone save me!” He flopped across the arms of the chair, sprawling out like a regular Victorian lady.

Batman continued walking forward, and the man stared past him for a second.

The man’s face scrunched up in annoyance from beneath his mask, and his voice adopted quite the gruff tone. “Won’t. Anyone. SAVE. ME.”

Finally, the street erupted in the battle-yells as from every alley, from behind every car, came poorly-dressed, poorly equipped street thugs. Most of them wore masks almost identical to the man’s. Others donned sombreros, some clown masks. All of them seemed too colorful and too uncomfortable to have been professionals.

Batman started off by throwing down a smoke pellet. A thick fog quickly enveloped the street, smelling of bleach and ash, stinging Batman’s nose as he activated heat vision in his cowl with a click.

Already, panic was settling over the mismatched crew, yells of confusion, and guns shot blindly into the mist. 

This was where the Bat thrived. In the shadows, in obscurity, in myth. Where nothing could truly be defined, the Bat was anything and everything. The Bat was fear, the Bat was destruction forged into the shape of a man.

He quickly took to restraining the crowd, slamming heads into the pavement, against one another, slamming his fists with a practiced accuracy. Eventually, as the smoke thinned, the last remaining members saw how few of them were still on their feet, and bolted for their own safety. 

Batman turned his attention to finding the man, staring up towards the rooftops, only to be promptly slapped on the back by the man. He spun around, fists swinging. The man dropped down onto his knees in a prayer-like position just in time so that Batman’s strikes swished through empty air.

“Oh, pretty please, Batman! I’m only a boy, led astray by the corrupt authority figures in my life! Have mercy!”

The Dark Knight heaved a sigh, taking out handcuffs from his utility belt and slapping them on the man’s hands. He looked only mildly surprised by this before standing up with a dramatic sigh.

“Alas, I will pay for the sins of society. I only became what they-!”

“Shut the hell up.”

“I forfeit my right to remain silent.”

“Do I need to put you to sleep, then?”

“No….” 

Batman only turned for a second to open the Batmobile, and there was a gasp of pain. He turned, and he realized in disgust that the man had, putting his hands over his head, cut them off using the exposed blades of his katanas. The limp appendages fell to the ground with a spray of crimson, and the man took off running down the street. 

With a sigh, Batman pulled out a batarang, and threw it. It cut through the air like a knife, and once it was close enough to the fleeing figure, it burst into a sturdy nylon web that entangled the man like a caterpillar in a cocoon. He fell with a fair amount of cursing.

Batman stepped next to the man’s struggling form, planting a boot on his thigh. “Alright. Who are you, who are you working for?”

“The one and only Deadpool! And I’m not working for anyone, it just so happens that doing what someone tells me to is benefiting me in some sense.”

“So? Is it Bane, Riddler? Who? Should I beat it out of you?”

“You forget that I just cut my own hands off, do you really think a beating would get anything out of me?”

That was true. 

“Besides, the bomb I have under my trench-coat is gonna go off in ten seconds, so it wouldn’t matter.”

Was… Was he bluffing? Then, Batman listened to the subtle beep that was radiating from Deadpool. He dove away.

Deadpool managed to roll himself to a kneeling position, the net pinning his arms and legs together. 

“Batsy! Remember this as the day you almost caught Deadpool!”

Then, a burst of sound, light, and invisible force rocked the street. Batman continued to shield himself with his cape for a few moments until he stood up, looking into the small crater left behind by the explosion.

There. Blackened, shattered bone fragments. The smell of charred flesh. That thing, there in the bottom of the pit, was no longer human. It was a thing. It was dead and gone.

The incident left an impression on Bruce that he couldn’t explain. This was a suicide bomber without a cause who had seemingly sacrificed his life for nothing. What could it mean?


	3. In Which Joker Watches Batman Fight Deadpool

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested Listening:  
> Master of the House Instrumental by Claude-Michel Schönberg  
> Milk and Cookies by Melanie Martinez  
> Garbage Truck by the Sex Bob-ombs, cover by Clem  
> Do It All the Time by IDKHBTFM  
> The Ballad of Mona Lisa by Panic! At the Disco  
> Lights Go Down by IDKHBTFM
> 
> Compiled playlist:  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8X_UbbTRrY0i3PFAgzX_5at-iyI2aKa2

The Joker had given Deadpool the supplies and men to do what he pleased, and the only requirements were that he keep Batman occupied thirty minutes. Not for any particular reason, just to let Deadpool grow into his own with the arrangement. It would be quite good for the show if Deadpool was able to choreograph his own segment.

Joker had dug up the recording from the security cameras, tapping his lip with a pen, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Whatcha watching, puddin’?” Harley said, slinking up and putting her hands on his shoulder. He waved her off slightly. She was wearing a leather jacket, an extremely short skirt, and a shirt so torn, she might have well not worn anything at all. She made sure to make his noticing this was inevitable. God, could she be anymore desperate?

“My new toy.”

He cracked a smile as Deadpool dropped to his knees in a prayer for mercy, and Batman obediently slapped handcuffs on him. While the Bat was distracted, the men that had avoided the beat-down of the crowd were dragging off their unconscious companions into the safety of the alley.

Harley frowned. “He’s already been taken down? We don’t have to break-” She stopped and blinked a little as Deadpool began quickly sawing off his own hands with only a few winces. “Woah.”

“Crazy, right?”

“Yeah, but now he has no hands!”

“Shh, shh, just watch.”

Harley stayed dubiously silent as Deadpool started running, and was shot down by the Bat once more, collapsing onto the pavement.

Deadpool seemed firmly caught in the fowler’s snare, that is, until the Bat’s eyes widened in shock, and he flung himself away. He dove behind a car for cover.

Then, the screen flashed white, and the dull static roar filled the speakers.

“Holy- He blew himself up!”

The Joker laughed a bit. “Of course he did!”

Harley jumped as a voice suddenly rang out from behind them. “Yeah, I wish I could have seen the look on Batsy’s face, but alas, I was rather baked at the time.”

Joker smiled at Deadpool, who was wearing some of Joker’s old clothes that had been scrounged up. A puke-green vest and purple pants. 

Looking at the time on the security camera feed, Joker noted that Deadpool had set the bomb to go off in thirty minutes to mark the end of the requirement. So, this ‘Merc With a Mouth’ tended to do only what was absolutely necessary, but enjoyed putting on a show. He somewhat reminded Joker of his earlier days, when fewer people died in each scheme of his. 

“How did you survive?” Harley breathed, wrinkling her nose as she stared at Deadpool’s face.

“I heal. Hey, hey, don’t look at me like that, I make girls scream all the time.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Mister Deadpool.”

“I wasn’t threatening you.” Deadpool smirked. Harley hissed at that, very tempted to smack the man’s nut sack of a face, but the brush of Joker’s hand made her stop. With a stomp, she spun around and left the room in a hustle.

Deadpool stared at her as she went. “I’m going to touch those if it’s-”

The Joker narrowed his eyes at him.

“When you’re not looking.”

The Joker just turned back to his desk, knowing that such an attempt would only get Deadpool a sledgehammer to the head or something worse.

Now, this man was interesting. The Joker was not yet sure of how far Deadpool would be willing to go. Sure, his own life wasn’t an issue. But would the man be willing to walk with a bomb into Gotham Square? Would he empty a clip on a school if Joker asked him to? The clown would have to forge some sort of “friendship” with the dullard. A bit of pressure here and there to test his limits.

If Deadpool was the type to follow orders, he would be a dangerous pawn indeed. But if he could be turned away from the Joker’s cause, then the clown would have no way to put down his rabid attack dog.

The Joker almost sighed to himself. He wasn’t used to thinking so much about someone’s psyche, well, anyone other than Batman. It was almost always black and white: either you are ally, enemy, or Batman. Allow for gray, and you allow traitors, backstabbers, the lowest of scum to crawl into your employ. Only the Joker was allow to back-stab his thugs.

Deadpool seemed like an obvious fool, only useful when someone was there to puppet him. But something darker lurked beneath his surface. The Joker could sense it. 

“Deadpool, I’m going to have you go back to Arkham now.”

“Do I have to?” Deadpool whined, drawing out each word a couple seconds.

“It’ll only be for a while. The guards haven’t noticed you’re gone.”

“Humph. Alright. Send a care-package, will you?”

“Don’t count on it.”

“Why so serious all the time? I thought you were ‘The Joker’?”

This made the Joker smirk a bit. “I allow myself fun when I can afford it, when it’s part of the show.”

“I suppose. Why do you do it so much for Batman, and not for those walking tatas you got in the back room?”

“Harley can’t understand me like Batman can.”

“Oho, do you have a little crush on the man who dresses up like a flying mouse and punches thugs in the street as a hobby?” Deadpool laughed. “Batman and Joker, sittin’ in a tree-”

“It’s not a crush, it’s much more-” Joker snapped, feeling his face go a little hot. Many people had speculated how he viewed the Dark Knight, but no one had attacked it head on like that.

“Don’t worry, Joker, your secret’s safe with me. Honestly, with that jawline, that bod, I’d do him. Sadly, heroes never seem to go for me.” He drooped like a wilting flower. 

The clown settled down into a calmer pout, while noting Deadpool’s apparent sexuality for later use. “Do you usually chase after men in spandex?”

Deadpool laughed nervously. “Well, who doesn't? But anyways. Arkham! Going to Arkham, piss off a guard or two.” He turned with a nervous laugh and walked out the door.

After a few minutes, Harley eventually crawled back in a sulk.

“I know he’s useful. Don’t mean I have to like him.”

Joker smiled. “Exactly. But be nice him. He needs to like us.”

Harley groaned. “Do I have to, puddin’?”

The Joker reached up, gently cradling Harley’s chin so that she had no choice but to meet his electric green eyes. “It’d make me very happy, darling.”

A flush came into her pale cheeks, and she turned away. “Oh… alright.”

“Why don’t you clean up around the place? I have some work to do at the moment.”

“Right on ya, Mr. Jay!” 

The Joker sighed as Harley shuffled out once more.


	4. In Which Bruce and Wade Play Battletoads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested Listening:  
> Don't Stop Me Now by Queen  
> Battletoads Genesis- Theme by Mark Knight  
> Battletoads Genesis- Turbo Tunnel Race by Mark Knight  
> The Moon Is Made of Cheese (but i can't taste it) by Bill Wurtz  
> Party in the CIA by Weird Al Yankovic
> 
> Compiled Playlist:  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8X_UbbTRrY15r7c6c3xuhGV27KeOdKCu

Wade was being given leave. He was far from being free from his diagnosed illnesses, doctors said, however, he was deemed perfectly suitable to have a few hours a day to go out into the streets.

It was a glorious day for all of Arkham. News articles were written about the subject until the public knew everything that the doctors knew about Wade Wilson, and the reason the public ate this up was because it was hope. For years and years, they had all heard about the looneys that were let in and out of Arkham with no progress on their mental health. All of the tax payer dollars that seemed to to go into nothing.

But here! A man who had assaulted nurses and police officers alike, whose face seemed to fit every mad villain that had ever frolicked in the darkness of Gotham, a man who, from what was told in the news articles, had acted almost as insane as the Joker himself, he was making progress! Through the dedication of well-meaning psychologists and plain human kindness, the darkness was being washed away. 

Wade was a hero, and the publicity of the Arkham Charity Ball made Gotham love him even more. He was the light in the sea of madness.

Donations to help fund Arkham were flooding in, and reporters every day were delving into Arkham to bring the success stories, the sob stories, poor people who just needed help. It was a whole new perspective than the fear-fueled stories that helped sell papers, and the people lapped it up.

Every talk show sourced in Gotham wanted a chunk of Wade Wilson, which was very hard to get. Apparently, he liked going to theme parks, auditioning for musicals, and taking selfies with whoever asked more than getting dressed up and answering awkward questions on television. This only served to make him more appealing to the public. He was relatable, cute, and confident despite his physical ugliness. He was, to be brief, inspirational.

Wade almost felt guilty for deceiving them all, but-…

Was this what it felt like to be a hero? Everyone looked up to him. They smiled when they saw him. Cute girls giggled when he flirted with them instead of spitting in his face or something of the like. It was nothing like what he almost always saw as heroism, the spandex, punching villains in the face, rescuing women with voluptuous breasts from burning buildings, but every so often, when he was out just getting ice-cream or enjoying the sunshine rather than doing something for the Joker, someone would come up to him. They would tell him how his recovery inspired them to seek professional help for their addiction, for their depression, their anxiety. And they thanked him. When he hadn’t really done anything to deserve it.

Absolutely nothing. 

So he didn’t think about it. It was a balancing act of shoving away his guilt and ignoring reality that Wade couldn’t keep up for long, but he was always one to attempt the impossible.

As the media had fallen in love with Wade Wilson, the unlikely hero, the Wayne Enterprises PR team took upon themselves to bug Bruce Wayne about talking more to Wilson as often as they could. As interesting as Bruce found him, the PR’s badgering almost made it unappealing, so he never sought Wade out himself.

Even so, he was out in a hoodie and jeans, trying to remain discreet as he went to try and get some information from a local bar about a new name that was seemingly being adopted by multiple culprits in some sort of suicide cult that heavily involved traditional Mexican cuisine.

But that didn’t stop him from lighting up like a Christmas tree when he spotted the man out on the street. Bruce had also been infected by the hopeful fever that was wracking the city. Even after so long of locking up the criminals in the place where they would supposedly be better off, he had barely heard anything that proved it useful. It had been pushing a boulder uphill until Wade.

Wade was talking a young man, telling a very animated story about something that happened in Arkham, but, catching Bruce’s eye, he paused and waved. “Hiya, Bruce!”

“Hey, Wade.”

“This is my new friend- uh… Richard? Yeah. Richard. Can I call you 'Dick'?” 

“Nice to meet you, Richard,” Bruce said, offering his hand. The young man’s mouth was gaping as he took Bruce’s hand in a sort of trance.

“N-nice to meet you, too, Mr. Wayne… Can I take a picture?” 

“Well, I suppose so.” Bruce wasn’t really a celebrity, he didn’t do anything other than business, but it was always a point of bragging to say you met THE Bruce Wayne, if for no other reason.

Richard pulled out his phone, and Bruce ducked with his press smile, but he was quickly squished by Wade wrapping his arm around his shoulder and inserting his own face into the frame.

A snap, and Richard ran off with his acquired prize.

“Swell to see you again. We haven’t caught up since the charity event, I should really invite you out to my yacht one day,” Wade laughed, finger-gunning at Wayne.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Oh, then we can retire to your mansion.”

“Champagne and caviar?”

“You know me so well.”

They both laughed a bit. 

“So, what are you doing around here, Brucie?” 

“Would you believe I’m out for fresh air?”

“If you wanted fresh air, you’d fly out to Jamaica or something.” Wade and Bruce started walking down the street. “Say, why aren’t you- like, in a suit at some party?”

“Everyone wants a break from ‘fancy’ sometime.”

“What, you gonna ask to trade places, prince?”  
“If I could trade places with someone, I would, but-”

“You’re the only one in the world who can smile and nod at rich people. Sure.”

Bruce was surprised that Wade was so quick to call him out on that. Most people thought that as C.E.O., Bruce held some sort of integral position at the company, but in truth he only went to board meetings to pretend he cared where his money came from.

They walked in silence for a few moments before Wade stopped in his tracks, looking into the window of an arcade.

“Oh my God, they have Battletoads!”

“What’s ‘Battletoads’?” 

Wade almost looked offended. “How shameful, aren’t you supposed to be a cultured man? Come on, this is more important than getting fresh air.”

The inside of the arcade was thick with the smell of grease, nacho cheese, and other similar foods. There were as only a thirty-or-so man and two teenagers playing the large, bulky games that lines the walls. Wade grabbed Bruce’s hand and dragged him over to ‘Battletoads’, inserting the necessary coins and selecting two players. Bruce was more watching Wade as the intro cycled through something about a princess and space, he didn’t really care.

Then, two characters, a green frog and a yellow frog. 

“Alright, get ready, ‘cause we’re about to beat down on this level. Oh, be careful, friendly fire is totally a thing in this. I’ll take player two, because I know what to do for the glitches and such.”

Bruce nodded hesitantly. He could beat a simple video game.

_

Bruce could not beat a simple video game. And Wade’s constant yammering about how great Mudkip Edition was going to be didn’t help.

The graphics were pretty awful, everything flickered from time to time, and he just kept dying. He wasn’t as horrible as when he started, though, so that was a plus.

After around an hour and a half, they managed to get to stage six. Which didn’t feel that far, but Wade shoved it off, saying Bruce wasn't the worst player he'd ever seen. Comforting. 

“Hey, want to get some nachos?”

Bruce narrowed his eyes at the person in the corner that had a tray of it. “The cheese looks like plastic, Wade.”

“Russian Roulette: Food Poisoning Edition.”

“Sure. What the hell.”

So they ate really, really bad nachos. Like, it was basically if you poured spoiled milk mixed with sulfur over cardboard. But they laughed about it until Bruce threw up.

He didn’t understand how Wade could possibly keep it down. Bruce used to think he had a strong stomach, but alas, how the mighty fall. 

It was so bizarre, to have someone treat you like an ordinary person. Bruce couldn’t help but think that he could get used to this. Just, having someone who didn’t suck up to you, look down on you, or fear you, as Batman or Bruce Wayne.

“Oh, it’s almost curfew. I’ve got to get back to the Asylum. Another night falling asleep to the screams of the damned, am I right?” Wade laughed a bit, scratching the back of his neck.

Oh, right. Bruce needed to look up more information on the suicide bombers who had been springing up, all calling themselves ‘Deadpool’. That’s why he had wandered outside.

“Oh, yeah,” he chuckled. “I suppose you wouldn’t want to miss that.”

“The loonies are almost as loud as my parents were! Anyway, I’ll hit you up again sometime, Brucie-boy?”

“Yeah, this was fun.”

Wade waved, blew him a kiss, and jogged out the door down the street. 

Bruce sighed, resentful that he had to return to reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are my lifeblood. Also, I dont have an editor. So if you want to volunteer, or if you see something that could be improved, tell me.


	5. In Which Wade Talks to Himself Then Talks to His Doctor About That

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested Listening:
> 
> Happy Pills by Weathers (Red Light District)  
> The Mind Electric by Miracle Musical (no reverse remix)  
> Body by Mother Mother  
> Daddy by Andrew Jackson Jihad  
> In the Woods Somewhere by Hosier
> 
> Compiled Playlist:  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8X_UbbTRrY3_SqDKEDxvUltkb26aax0Z

What are you supposed to do with yourself when you can only act in the presence of others? Wade Wilson liked to color in the book that his doctors gave him. But he gave all the ponies mustaches and monocles. 

He had no purpose in this asylum except to fill the time until he could return to the grander scheme of things. But at least the scratch of crayons on paper was soothing enough to help pass the hours. 

He had two parts to play here, but he had flunked his theater class in high school. On an unrelated note, Shakespeare was 100% better with an Australian accent. 

Cocking his head to the side, as if someone was speaking into his ear, he sighed. “Oh, really? I had no idea, I thought we were blowing up banks for the greater good!”

He paused, pushing away his coloring book. “Once I get back, it won’t matter.” A pause, and he flinched. A passing of guilt over his eyes, then he turned back to his coloring with a sneer. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them. I mean, I’m already a piece of shit, how will this change it?” The crayon was flaking off from how hard he ground it into the paper.  
“Just, shut up!” He finally threw his book across the room. “I don’t have to take this. From my own head, no less!”

He sighed.

“I don’t have to prove anything.”

__

Wade sighed as he sat down on one of the plastic chairs in Dr. Leland’s office. “I thought today was Wednesday.”

“It is, but I thought an extra session this week could do you good. You seemed agitated, Wade.” The woman had a hard face, but she was truly a kind woman. She sacrificed much for Arkham. She was qualified enough to work anywhere she would wish, but instead, she decided to try and tackle the madness of Gotham, the deepest rabbit hole you could find.

Wade knew that face. It was the face of disappointment. He was familiar with that, enough so that it didn’t bother him. So what if his lie was discovered? He could only think of one reason for her to call an extra session. “You heard me, didn’t you.”

“Only a few words. But it’s not a good sign that you’re relapsing.” Leland’s dark brown eyes were filled with concern.

Wade laughed dully. “Everyone thinks out loud sometimes.”

“Don’t lie to me, Wade.”

“And why not?” he snapped, bitterness in his voice. He was usually docile for these, answering with fluff and smoke. It was hard sometimes. “It’s not like you’ve ever listened to the truth.”

“Wade, I do listen to you. But you need to start being honest, both with me and yourself.”

“Yeah. I need to accept that my family, my friends, my life were all made up to make me feel better about myself. But I gotta say, it did a fucking awful job.”

“The only way you’ll be able to heal is if you stop turning to yourself for the answers. We’re all here to help you.”

“I’m a little off-the-rails, Doc, I know that. But I know what’s real and what’s not as well as Alice can.”

“Why don’t you ask your yellow boxes about that?” Leland said. “I’m sure they’d have a good opinion on the subject.”

Wade wanted to bite back, tell her the perfectly logical explanation he had for the crew, but… She didn’t believe he had a healing factor, and with the Joker driving the divider between the identities of Wade Wilson and Deadpool even further down, it would be better if Dr. Leland couldn’t draw a connection between them.

“Well, what do you expect me to do about it?” He smiled grimly, the hardened scar tissue of his cheeks crinkling like canvas.

“What happened to trigger this?” Leland’s kindness was professional, her anger was biting. He couldn’t hate her, but he sure didn’t like her.

Wade sighed. The voices had never gone away, he was just encouraged to stop responding to them. But sometimes, he just couldn’t ignore them. 

It was because he was relapsing on the progress he had made as a hero under Spiderman, he might have said. It was because he was paranoid that his daughter, Ellie, might be chopped to bits while he was gone, and he’d return to a universe where he had no one to live for. 

It was because he was scared that maybe Leland was right.

What if he didn’t have a world to go back to.

Was the grand story really that cruel, that it would build up his rises and falls, his trials and tribulations only to have it mean nothing in the end? That he would be allowed to frolic as both hero and villain for a time, only to have all of the consequences heaved upon his shoulders with one misstep?

He always knew he was crazy, but he thought he could rely on his own senses. 

Could he be so alone in the world that his own madness had created the paper figures of a family he had lost, or perhaps, that he never had? How pathetic was he?

He was crazy, but he wasn’t insane.

But then again, that’s what every insane man said.

“It’s fine. It won’t happen again.”

“I want to know why it happened so we can make sure of that.”

“I have the right to remain silent.”

“Wade. Do I need to revoke your leave?”

Wade blinked. She’d do that? But- No, she was bluffing. He couldn’t stay cooped up in here any longer, like he was trapped in the ice of the ninth circle. 

Everyone in Arkham was mad. If you weren’t when you came in, surely the screams and the aching silence of dead men walking would be enough to push you over the edge.

“No. Okay, I saw a-… a mother and her child. The mother got all shelled up by a mugger, and the girl just sat there and cried in her own mum’s blood while police-men chased down the man.” 

That hadn’t happened. But he had seen a woman crying over her husband, who died in an explosion he caused. He saw a father desperately trying to lift a fallen pillar as it slowly crushed the lungs of his child. He saw many things.

Leland raised an eyebrow, but nodded and wrote it down. “That’s a horrible thing to witness.” 

“It reminded me of Ellie.”

“Your daughter?”

“Yeah. I’m worried to death about her.”

Leland nodded again, looking undecided. But she scratched down notes with her pen for a while until she finally looked back up at Wade. “Alright. Head back to your room. If you don’t want to eat in the cafeteria, I’ll have them send your dinner to you.”

“No, it’s… It’s fine.” Wade gave a flat smile.  
_

The Joker’s face was cut open by a smile that seemed to reach from ear to ear, a look in his eye that resembled a lion staring at a hyena. “Ah, my little kamikaze. I have a wonderful idea for this round. Sit down, have a drink-”

Wade sipped the grape soda he was handed, and staring with blank eyes, prepared to listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeetus reetus your optimism has been deletus


	6. In Which Batman Talks About Architecture and Deadpool and Harley Argue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended Listening:
> 
> The Key In the Sea by Bruno Coulais and Kila  
> Waltz No. 2 by Dmitri Shostakovich  
> The Bidding by Tally Hall  
> Hey You by Pink Floyd , cover by Clem  
> Minecraft Volume Alpha - 1 - Key
> 
> Compiled Playlist:  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8X_UbbTRrY1Ntj1OCYwwj9sOTBwYVMv1

Alfred slipped into the Batcave. Bruce was bent over the Bat Computer, as usual, and Alfred set the tea tray next to him, also as usual. But most of the time, Bruce at least would take a sip and a nibble when his food was brought to him, if only to not have Alfred bother him. Bruce only continued to stare at the screen mindlessly, however.

“Master Bruce? Is everything all right?”

Bruce sighed. “You’ve seen the suicide bombings on the news, haven’t you?”

“In passing, sir. But I didn’t pay much mind.”

“The bombings have taken forty-two lives so far. Around seventy or more injured.”

Such tragedy. Alfred should have been used to this by now, but he was one of the remainders of a time when the larger-scale deaths were just annually, rather than every other week.“Is there some sort of link between them?”

“Yes. All of the bombers wear some variation on the same suit and claim that they are called ‘Deadpool’. ‘Deadpool’ could be the name of their organization or cult, or-” Bruce leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “They could believe they are embodying the spirit of this ‘Deadpool’, some sort of deity or supernatural being, as the Egyptians and other ancient cultures believed was possible.”

The butler leaned slightly over Bruce’s shoulder to get a glimpse at the snippet of a newspaper Bruce was reading. “How are you planning to trace them?”

“I’ve encountered two of them, one sixth months ago, the other only yesterday, but I’ve never been able to disable the bombs in time to stop them. But I did manage to run a scan on the second one. It was a crudely-made ammonium nitrate bomb.”

“So these are hardly professionals.” Ammonium nitrate bombs were easily scraped together and the most common bombs used by terrorists.

“I thought that at first. But then I looked at the architectures of the buildings targeted.” His fingers began flying over the keyboard, pulling up tab after tab on the screen that seemed to take up the entire wall. Blue light danced over his pale skin, the reflection of the words flashing across Bruce’s brilliant blue eyes. 

“At Gotham Bank, for example, the bomber knew exactly where to stand so that almost all of the contents of the safe-deposit boxes on the other side of the wall were destroyed. Almost a million dollars of damages.”

“He could have just looked at a floor plan.”

“Perhaps. But those are hard to find, and I looked it up. The original architect died many years ago, most likely taking the plans with him.”

“At Ace Chemicals, the bomber broke into the main room without alerting any of the guards and set the bomb off near a main pipe that was only recently experiencing leakage. The explosion caused the pipes to burst in a chain reaction that destroyed most of the vat and drainage systems. The damage has been fully contained, but this could sink the company.”

Alfred nodded stiltedly. “I see. How would they know which pipe to target without inside work?”

“Exactly. At the Gotham subway, the most vital structural support was hit. But, looking at the inside, it isn’t obvious except to the most skilled engineers.”

Bruce took in a more shuddering breath as he stared at the pixels.

“Finally, at the Special Crimes Unit, the bomber took a hostage after getting shot twice to no vital areas. He took the hostage officer directly to the evidence room and blew up with the officer. The bomb destroyed almost all of the physical evidence from the major crimes sections.”

“Like the Riddler, Joker, Bane-?”

“Yes, Alfred. “

Bruce picked up the tea Alfred had brought, taking a long sip. His brow was furrowed, and he tapped his fingers against the porcelain.

“I’m concerned. All of these bombers have been focused on causing the most damage to Gotham’s economy, by disabling the major public transportation system, destroying the funds of its private citizens, almost sending a company bankrupt-…”

He stood up, beginning to pace across the room. His cape fluttered around his boots. 

“If the quality of the bombs are anything to go off of, the bombers themselves aren’t doing the planning. They’re being organized by someone. But the attack on the SCU means he’s working for someone whose evidence file was destroyed in the explosion.”

In the harsh blue light, Batman was not Batman. Batman was stripped down of the mystery, of the horror that made him such a terror to the streets. Shadows that flicked about in living cords about him were his greatest weapon. 

He looked up, a resolute look across his face.

“That narrows it down to in the criminals filed in the J through K filings.”

“Joker, then.”

“We can’t assume.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Master Wayne, it’s always the Joker.”

Bruce sighed slightly. “We have to rule out all possibilities.”

“I’ll bet you. Joker.”

“All the possibilities, Alfred.”

__

“Can I ever do anything other than blowing myself up?” Deadpool muttered as Harley strapped the bomb across his chest. 

She snorted, looking at him with a raised brow. “Why does it matter? You heal.”

“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like fuck.”

“You’ve obviously learned to deal with it.”

“Maybe I want to do something interesting for once.”

Harley growled a little at him. “You’re gonna do what Mr. Jay tells you to do, Dead Fool.”

Deadpool laughed. “Oh, man, get me some aloe vera for that one. Did you come up with it all by yourself?”

“Stop making fun of me! My Puddin’ will do you right in once I tell you how you treat me.”

Crossing his arms, he sneered a bit under the newest, crudely-patched together mask, another piece of clothing destined for incineration. “’Puddin’’. Heh. Do you call him that in bed? Oh, wait, no- You’ve never even gotten your hands on him.”

Harley look struck for a second, before she backed up. Her face contorted into red-hot bitterness, eyes full of fire. “How the hell do you know?”

“I know a one-sided relationship when I see one.”

“Takes one to know one.”

Deadpool smiled sadly. “Very true.”

Neither of them knew what to say after that, so Harley just pressed the activator of the timer. The red light of the bomb pulsed like a beating heart over the mercenary’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuvbi;drfbgvi;surdbn;isubnvihfb id like some comments that'd be nice


	7. In Which Wade Knows What To Look For

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recommended Listening:  
> Social Climb by IDKHBTFM  
> Sandy Fishnets by Evelyn Evelyn  
> Batman: Arkham Knight - Drive to ACE Chemicals Theme by David Buckley  
> Tourner Dans Le Vide by Indila  
> Formidable by Stromae
> 
> Compiled Playlist:  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8X_UbbTRrY185aiA4DiiFfpQlkwLJpw_

“Do you know who Batman is?”

“No.”

“You don’t want to, do you?”

The Joker blinked. Then chuckled. “No. I suppose not.”

“Why?” Deadpool took a bite of a granola bar, then rolled his mask back down over his face, smacking obnoxiously.

“You think that a man is only the sum of his name. But Batman is Batman. Whatever he’s called outside of his latex is the real mask.”

Deadpool chewed on this for a second. He had never had the need to hide his identity. Wade Wilson and Deadpool both slid off the tongue in equal amounts. But Batman had something to hide, people he wanted to protect. Wade did as well, but he had no way to go back on his decisions now. All he could do was cut himself out of any happiness he might be able to have.

Of course, from his interactions with Mr. Jay, Wade had noticed many things. Joker was here for the attention, for the show. He needed to be remembered. “Deadpool, that’s obvious!” you might say. True, true. But it did explain why he would never search out Batman’s true face. Once Batman was defeated, the curtain was closed, and Joker would be singing a one-clown duet.

Wade wondered what it would be like to need someone like that. He exchanged partners and nemeses like filthy socks. Because everyone fell apart around him. 

But thinking about the long term, if he was just here to blow things up once in a while, then… What was the point? He needed to start thinking about actually getting home. He had been fully released from Arkham, save for a check-up once in a while, so it didn’t matter whether or not Joker was there to help him anymore.

He swallowed loudly. “So. Remember how I’m not from here?”

The Joker smiled at him like he might at a child, all terrifying with his split cheeks and yellowed teeth. “Yeah?”

“Do you know anyone who might be able to help me get back?”

“Oh, I do.”

Deadpool lit up, turning to him. “Really? How?”

“Not tellin’ ya.”

“Why??”

The Joker stood up, flipping up the collar of his purple tail-coat with a quiet giggle. He walked over to the window, the quiet light falling across his bone-white face. “My little Kamikaze, look out here.”

Wade slowly stood up, and looked over the clown’s shoulder. “Yeah?”

“What do you see?”

He pursed his brow. “Uh… Buildings?”

“Exactly.”

Wade’s eyes widened, and they stood there in silence until the lesser in will of the two fled with his thoughts.  
__

No escape until the city fell. No, no, no, no. How was he going to survive this?

He had already caused so many deaths, so much damage, with the thought in the back of his mind that none of it would matter. He had thought that eventually he’d get to do something interesting with this deal he had struck up with the Joker. But straight up terrorism over, and over, and over again. Waking up burnt, charred, midst a sea of destruction. He was started to really hate it.

The Joker was mortal. He could just shoot the bitch. But then again… That wouldn’t be satisfying enough. No, he needed to do something that would destroy everything that the man cared about. 

“Harls, Honey, Baby, Queen, could you look something up for me?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“Why?”

“Special mission from Mister Jay Jay, feel me? Important shit.”

Harley narrowed her eyes, wrinkling her nose and pulling her laptop closer to her chest. “Fine. What do you need.”

“Okay, look up the richest percent of Gotham.”

“Yeah?”

“Now, have any of these people lost children, girlfriends, wives, parents to tragic accidents?”

Harley tapped the keys a bit, and three names appeared on the screen.

Deadpool stared intently. Five suspects. “Under the age of thirty-five.”

Finally, with a click, he had his name. 

But he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

However, when it came to empathy versus pettiness, he knew which one would win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one was so short, but I'm planning to have the next one pretty long. Sorry this took so long to get out. But tbh no one's reading this it doesnt matter


	8. In Which the Bat and the Clown Have a Chat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Recommended Listening:  
> Why So Serious? by Hans Zimmer  
> You Should See Me In A Crown by Billie Eilish  
> Davy Jones (Score) by Hans Zimmer  
> For Your Entertainment by Adam Lambert, cover by Phillip Maciel  
> They're Coming To Take Me Away by Napoleon XIV
> 
> Compiled Playlist:  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8X_UbbTRrY03A9enIdIjemNynfJvJQmR

Bruce wasn’t expecting to suit up in the middle of the morning and go out for a stroll to Arkham today. 

However, if you hear that after not a word for three months the Joker himself had suddenly strolled into the front doors of Gotham and let them slam him into a cell with not even a giggle of explanation, you’re under obligation to do a bit of snooping around.

Batman was allowed a large amount of freedom about Arkham. The staff had learned to just let him go about his business. Whether this was out of fear or respect depended on the individual. A few still didn’t like him going into the private wings, against protocol and the law, but what could a psychologist do against a monster who made more loonies than he put away? Better to ignore any guilt that pricked them and let the Bat interrogate the caged men. They overlooked the bruises and the broken noses when he was done with them.

The Bat was set up in a room with a single table. The light bulb swung like a pendulum, marking the time.

The Joker smirked at him a bit as the Batman stood behind the chair across from him. He ran his tongue over his chalky white lips, leaning a bit back into his chair.

“No ‘hello’?”

“What are you doing here, Joker.” 

The clown pursed his lips and brushed a lock of green hair from his face. “Something’s weighing on your mind. Do you wanna talk about it?” Some satire of sympathy colored his rough voice.

The Bat said nothing.

“Please,” he said, waving at the seat, “sit down, Batsy.”

“I’d rather not.”

“As if rejecting an invitation will make you seem weaker. You men and your fragile masculinity.”

Batman continued to stand there. He knew Joker brought him here for a reason. Every action the man took would have to be considered with an ulterior motive. The Joker always had so many threads beneath the surface, every scheme planned months in advance. Or not.

“Confused, are you?”

The Joker ran his tongue over his teeth a bit, before exhaling a puff of air out of his nose. “You’re wondering about those bombers, am I right?”

He rolled his hand at the Dark Knight. His eyes flashed with fire, but sucked into an unfeeling void. Full of contradictions. That’s what the Joker was. He was calm, and he was manic. He was a planner, and he was spontaneous. Everything seemed to slip into his favor when he had never even written out a to-do list in his life.

In the nature of things, order always devolved into chaos. All that lives will die. That which is built will be undone. All gods will be forgotten and fade into obscurity. If one wants anything to be good, he has to fight for it. Because it is in the nature of everything to fall to anarchy. So many people try to hold up the facade of peace and sensibility that is simply unsustainable. 

In his heart of hearts, Batman knew this. Joker knew what he knew.

“Did someone pay them? No, no, money means nothing to a dead man. A religion? Nothing they’ve declared. Just madmen? Too organized. There’s a head honcho, at least.”

“It’s you.”

“Is it me? It’s always Apophis and I, in a sense.”

The Batman always found himself fumbling for words in the presence of the man. But the Joker made it obvious that he was connected to these men in a way. But what was he getting out of it when he wasn’t receiving publicity or money? And so far, the ‘Deadpools’ had not made any challenge to a larger ideology, although they were targeting important 

“What are you planning.” The question, well, statement, was useless, they both knew. But the Joker smiled anyways. 

“Do I look like a man with a plan to you?” A hoarse, empty chuckle dragged itself from the clown’s throat.

“Deadpool is a wrench to be thrown into the machine. I’m a man of science, you must know. What’s science without a little experimentation?”

A wistful look entered the shell’s dark eyes. He seemed to look over the Bat’s shoulders to some promising future. He could see the rivers of time as they spread apart in possibilities. He was looking for the path that would bring a flood.

“Gotham’s such an... unstable mix. Even such a dense thing as Deadpool might stir it to the bursting point.”

“You will fail. You always do, Joker. When will you learn that whatever you do to bring Gotham down, these people will stand back up?”

“Let’s cut off their legs, then.”

“They’ll drag themselves out of hell while there’s still hope.”

The tension lived between the pair of them. “No matter how much hope there is, animals will always tire of running from the inevitable.”

Bruce had known that it would be useless to try and get any information out of the man. Violent methods of interrogation were also out of the picture. The Joker responded to a beat-down like he would to a tickle fight. It was one of the only situations were the physical might of the Bat was useless.

“What did you bring me here for?”

“Oh, thanks for reminding me- I, uh, brought a little gift.”

The Joker shuffled around in the inner pockets of his trench-coat for a bit, before he pulled out-… a severed hand. It was seemingly forever stuck flipping off the world for its fate. It was cloaked in a red and black glove, seemingly drained of all blood, considering the cleanliness of the wound. It was a jagged cut, flesh darkened by decay peeling off at every angles.

“From a friend.” The Joker smiled, continuing to hold out the hand as moments passed. Eventually, as the Joker’s eyes pulled the resistance from the Bat’s heart, he reached out and took it.

The Bat left. No one questioned what he was carrying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry i lied. i thought the finale was going to be next, but i realized there was more i needed to put in. there was going to be another scene in this, but it felt shoved in, so i decided to not.


	9. In Which Batman Deduces Stuff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested Listening:  
> Kitchen Fork by Jack Conte (idk about dis one but i was listening to it while i wrote)  
> Batman: The TellTale Series- Batcave Loop by Jared Emerson Johnson  
> Undertale OST- Premonition by Toby Fox  
> Prelude in C Sharp Minor (Op. 3 No. 2) by Rachmaninoff  
> Detroit: Become Human - Kara Main Theme by Philip Sheppard
> 
> Compiled Playlist:  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8X_UbbTRrY31V1_oFOaCl41ZcrytxIBp

Batman quickly locked the hand into a cold box to preserve it. The Joker meant something by giving him this hand. The red and black glove implied that it was part of the ‘Deadpool’ cult. He gingerly opened the freezer, and began peeling off the fabric. The hand was covered in rough scar tissue. Unusually severe, in fact. They were similar in nature to burn scars, but something was off about them. They didn’t have the linear nature of injuries from weapons as well.

He could compare it to a poorly-done skin graft, or perhaps what would happen if someone attempted to cut off a tumor with a kitchen knife. Bruce felt like he had seen similar scarring before… He just couldn’t put a finger on it.

Perhaps there was something in the physiology of the bombers that connected them all. He took a sample of the skin and began running DNA scans on it, comparing it to a shard of bone that he had collected from the first ‘Deadpool’ he had encountered in person. There was still a bit of marrow on it, although it was charred and flaking.

The Batcomputer set to working. It would take maybe a couple of minutes or so to run through all the protocols. Bruce sighed. He really needed to install that new update, get the Computer up to top efficiency again.

Then, his phone buzzed on the counter next to him. An unknown number. Strange. 

He answered out of curiosity.

“Hiya, Brucie!”

He took a moment to place the voice. The Deadpool he had met? No, no, wouldn’t know his name or number… Oh, of course. “Hi, Wade.” Wait, how did Wade get this number either? He must have told him and forgot.

On the other line, Wade tried to pump his voice as full of enthusiasm as he could without making it weird. “Yeah, nice to here from ya. Been a while, ol’ buddy!”

“We saw each other last week?”

“I know! Time really flies.”

“Why did you call?”

“I just wanted to tell you that, uh-..”

There was a pause as Wade began to choke on his words.

“You’re a cool dude. And, uh, I’m glad we became friends.” 

Bruce felt a warm wash across his heart. “Well, thank you, Wade! Would you like to hang out some other time? I’m free in a few days.”

Wade paused. Why was this so hard? He’s known the guy for only a while, and they had only spoken two or three times. He would never come back to this world, why did it matter if-… 

Grit your teeth, Wade. This didn’t even matter to his story. A rabbit trail that no one even cared about. All that mattered was that he was able to get home. 

“Perhaps. I’ll have to check my very busy schedule.”

Perhaps if Wade had ever payed attention to the multiple times he had dimension-hopped before, he wouldn’t need to sacrifice the identity of the Bat to get the Clown to talk.

The damn Joker. It had been fun at the beginning. At the beginning, he was indebted to him for setting up his ‘outings’. Getting blown up hadn’t been too bad at first. He was dismembered enough for it not to matter. But the way the man looked at him-… 

Deadpool may be 'mad', but he was a human, too. Oh, he forgot. The Joker didn’t treat anyone like a human. How could someone called the ‘Joker’ be so boring? 

Humor was all that Deadpool had to drive off some of his darker thoughts, but trying to joke when you wake up every couple of days to the smell of charred flesh and your own intestines hanging out of your chest wasn’t as easy as it used to be. His memory was getting foggier and foggier from all the times his brain had been reformed.

How long would it be into this gig when he would forget he had ever done anything else? 

He had to get out. Out, out. He didn’t like killing kids. That’s why he hired someone to sell balloons outside for a while before the bomb went off. But the timer was much faster than he thought. They didn’t always get out in time.

“Are you free tonight? I’m having another charity event for Arkham, and they’d have called you up, but you haven’t been answering your cell phone.”

“Oh, yeah. I lost it.” He hadn’t.

“Can you come?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there.” 

“Great. I’ll see you, then. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Wade had already planned on attending. 

Batman tucked his phone into his pocket as the Batcomputer began chirping. Bruce pulled up his chair to look over the results. His eyes widened.

The DNA from the first bomber and the hand the Joker had given him were from the same person. Had the Joker collected one of the hands that the man had cut off with his katanas?

That had to be it. Didn’t it? But the wound didn’t look that old, maybe a day or so. The nails hadn't yet begun peeling off. There wasn’t any bloating, but that was to be expected when all of the blood had been drained out.

Perhaps it had been frozen for a while. He looked at the results again- No, no… The cells hadn’t been dehydrated at all. They were decaying at the normal rate for a human corpse.

Could it be that the original bomber had somehow been brought back to life? That was certainly possible, with all of the supernatural encounters that Bruce had had. But that brought the possibility into light that… ‘Deadpool’ was only one person…

Then. It clicked. That scarring. He had seen it before. All across Wade Wilson’s face.

The scarring could be from the process used to bring the bomber back to life, or the process that gave him the ability in the first place. Wade could have been a failed version of the experiment. It damaged his mind irreparably. 

Of course. It made so much sense. He quickly called Wade back to ask him about it, but… the phone just kept ringing until it went to voice mail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kill me i have no idea whats happening i suck at writing have a nice day


	10. In Which a Party is Crashed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested Listening:   
> Mama by My Chemical Romance  
> Modern Day Cain by IDKHBTFM  
> Drowning (feat. Kodak Black) by A Boogie Wit da Hoodie  
> Crazy=Genius by Panic! At the Disco  
> Happy Pills by Weathers  
> Pity Party by Melanie Martinez
> 
> Compiled Playlist:  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8X_UbbTRrY15Q7h5oqC7XNNpz4STHPoj

“I said I’ll be up in a minute.”

“Master Bruce, please. You’ll have to attend your own event sometime.”

He waved his hand drearily over his shoulder as he hunched over the computer screen. “Let me finish this episode.”

“The season finale of ‘Security Camera Feeds?’ Oh, can’t miss that.”

“I know, right?”

“Now, come on, Master Bruce, before I drag you by the ear.” Alfred paused a second. “Sir.”

“Alright, alright.” Bruce hauled himself up from his chair, brushing over his slightly-rumpled shirt. “I don’t have any scheduled interviews, do I?”

“You PR managers want you to talk with a former employee who’s currently running for mayor, Master Bruce. A mister-”

“So, no. Why haven’t they figured out that politics makes bad PR? It’s their damn job.” Bruce started trying to tie his bow-tie.

“If they’re so bad at their jobs, why haven’t you fired them, sir?”

“PR managers make it look like I care about public relations.”

“No, it makes it look like you can’t keep up public relations on your own.”

Bruce paused as he was fiddling with his tie. “Oh.” He furrowed his brow.

Up on the main floors, Bruce flung open the doors that led into the main ballroom. There was a general surge of approval from the crowd, and leeches and doves alike began swarming about him. Bruce Wayne, the Prince of Gotham, addressed each of them with equal grace while all eyes were on him.

The high-ceiling room was lit with a spidering crystal chandelier, and the friendly rumble of the room washed over him like a wave of warm water.

“Ah, Jim Gordon. I’m glad to see you here!” 

Jim looked up from his alcohol with a surprised look on his face. He had been surprised to be even invited to this, and even more surprised that Bruce Wayne took care enough to strike up a conversation. Sure, the man was okay, but he and Gordon had never really been anything more than acquaintances.

“Thanks, I’m-, uh, having as good a time I can.”

“Well, plenty of booze for good and evil alike.”

“That’s how it is.” Gordon threw back his glass, feeling the burn of the bourbon on his throat.

“I was thinking while Gotham is in such a giving mood, you could rustle up some funds for the Special Crimes Unit.”

“Well, you could have told me before, I would’ve made a Power Point.”

They laughed a little among themselves.

Then, there was a shout from the refreshment table. “Oh, God! This is disgusting.”

Bruce and Jim turned to the man that was spitting chocolate fondue onto the floor and swishing out his mouth with red wine. 

“Who made this? What the hell’s in it?”

“Oh, a little more than spit and a little less than shit,” Deadpool smirked as he took off his wig and mustache.

The crowd drew back at the sight of the mask that had been covering the news for the past months. And then, it gasped as Deadpool drew out a sawed-off shotgun from his trench coat, aiming it lazily at the mob of people.

“Hello, folks! Welcome to the show! It’s most likely going to be poorly planned and executed, but I found that adrenaline usually helps people ignore my shortcomings as a performer.”

Bruce was disappointed, but not surprised. Deadpool always targeted financially-important locations, and what better place to bomb than a gathering of Gotham’s elite? However, none of the accounts ever mentioned Deadpool threatening witnesses with a gun before the bomb went off.

He started to back up, hoping to perhaps slip away from the crowd and suit up. Immediately, the man jerked towards him, the roughly-cut barrel of his gun staring at Bruce with its empty, black eyes.

“Brucie-boy. Stay.” Deadpool twitched as he glanced back over the sea of people. Most rich, some not. They had either gaunt or sagging faces, jewelry or suits. The rotten, the fattened, and the ignorant.

“Ladies.” He pulled out a handgun from underneath his trench-coat and aimed it at a few porcelain dolls. It was mighty hard, holding a shot gun with one hand, but he managed. “I’ll need you to bring over a few chairs to the front of the room here. Thank you, darlings, much appreciated.”

As the women in tiny dresses and stupid hats dragged the chairs up, Deadpool walked about with a lolling saunter and an air of plastic confidence.

Bruce was frozen. For some reason, he could always sense the man staring at him from the corner of his eye. Of course, he couldn’t really tell, the mask covered Deadpool’s eyes, but why else would the shotgun always be aimed in his direction?

“Okay, some important people. How about… Jim Gordon, get up here, you lucky winner. Bruce Wayne, you come up here, too. Uh… Some other rich people… You look rich, get up here. And your lady friend, yes.”

An older man and his arm candy shuffled up, almost shivering as they whimpered a few quiet pleas. But Bruce and Jim walked up with stoic determination. Neither of them were afraid to die if it would save anyone else. They all sat down on the chairs in front of the refreshment table. 

Bruce stared straight ahead at the terrified crowd. With a breath in, he tried to smile reassuringly at them. But they gasped anyhow as Deadpool strapped a bomb around Bruce’s throat before continuing along the line.

Deadpool stuck his hand gun back into his pocket, instead pulling out a single remote with a large red button. And he pressed it squarely. The crowd flinched, but relaxed after nothing happened.

“When I-” he yelled, holding up the remote, “release this button, these bombs will go off, as well as the one I stuck one of the vents at Arkham. So, I advise any one who has any thoughts of trying to take me down to not even try it.”

Bruce flinched. That was a good plan. If he tried to take the remote from Deadpool’s hand, he’d have to hit the button exactly on the initial grab for it. Certainly possible, but if Deadpool let go even slightly-…

“TV people, hey! Do your fucking job and put us on TV!” Deadpool snapped at the reporters, and the camera-man jumped before fumbling his camera into place, focusing on Deadpool.

There was a moment of tense silence.

“Do the thing, lady.”

“W-what… ‘thing’, sir?”

“The ‘We’re here at la-do-da interviewing whoever’ thing.”

The woman look struck, but a shotgun pressed into her gut made her turn to the camera. He hands trembled as he squeezed the microphone. 

“T-This is Gotham City News… And we’re-...”

“Never mind, you suck at the thing.” Deadpool snatched the microphone from her hands, shoving her to the side. The woman fell to the floor, and the crowd tensed before finally two men helped her to her feet as Deadpool rambled.

“Yes, Janet, we’re here at Bruce Wayne’s mansion, raising funds for Arkham. Because we can all see how effective the damn place is. Sports and weather is on next.”

Bruce needed to talk his way out of it. It would make him look very suspicious, but at this point, it wasn’t an option

“Deadpool, I know you’ve been through a lot,” Bruce started.

Deadpool stared blankly into the camera without turning to address the man behind him. “You don’t know anything, Bruce.”

“I know you were scarred. By what, I’m not sure, but-”

“I fell asleep in an oven.”

“Was it from whatever gave you your healing abilities?”

Deadpool turned with a cocked brow. He shouldn’t be surprised, world greatest detective and all. “Bruce. This isn’t personal. Stop trying to make it that.”

But it was personal, Bruce could tell. Deadpool didn’t say his name mockingly, but instead with a gloss of sorrow that was barely recognizable to people who weren’t listening carefully.

“Stop getting distracted,” Deadpool muttered to himself. “Okay, camera boy. We ARE live, aren’t we?”

The man nodded.

“Okay.” Deadpool sighed, smoothing out his costume a bit with the remote in his hand. 

“Joker! Baby, Darling, Honey. I know you’ll be watching. You channel surf around this time.” Deadpool waved a hand. “So pay attention.

“You know what I want. I’m sick of playing your games for you. You’re not even using me for anything important, and I’m sick of waking up to charred flesh and sirens. I can only shove my guts back in so many times before a guy gets tired of it. So, find a way to deliver what I want to me.”

Deadpool then put down his gun and pulled out a sock-puppet with googly eyes stuck onto it. “But, Deadpool!” he said in a Mickey-Mouse voice. “How are you going to get the Joker to do what you want? You don’t have any leverage!”

“Well, that’s where you’re wrong! I have all the leverage in the world. I have Batman hostage.”

Bruce’s eyes widened. 

“If you don’t tell me what I want to know, I will tell all of Gotham who Batman is.”

Bruce released the breath he had been holding. Okay. The Joker didn’t want Batman’s identity revealed. So he would most likely give Deadpool what he wanted. Unless Deadpool didn’t actually know who Batman was, which was likely, and Joker called his bluff.

“If any police come within a block of this building, the bombs go kablooey, though. So, uh, don’t do that. And… That’s about it.” Deadpool looked around the camera to the operator. “Can you turn this thing off?”

The feed flipped off.

The Joker growled from where he sat on his ratty couch. 

This was going to be a problem, wasn’t it? Count on a fool to call his bluff.

“Harley, can you bring the car up to the front?”

“Sure thing, Mistah Jay!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only read through it once before i posted, oh well, it prolly sucks


	11. In Which Joker and Harley Threaten a Doctor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested Listening:   
> Day of the Dead Opening Theme by John Harrison  
> Ex Machina Soundtrack- Bunsen Burner by Ben Salisbury and Geoff Barrow  
> Turkish March by Mozart, arranged by Nick Ariando  
> Jekyll and Hyde- The World Has Gone Insane by Frank Wildhorn  
> Chlorine by Twenty One Pilots
> 
> Compiled Playlist:  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8X_UbbTRrY2wTksP3gapJOO4xIa0X9bm

The tires of the beetle screeched across the pavement in the dripping rain. The car flung around a corner, and Harley let out a little ‘eep’ as she lost hold of her seat-belt while trying to buckle it in. 

She finally managed to get it in, and rearranging her hair a bit, dug her nails into the seat for the bumpy ride.

“Gosh, Mistah Jay, what’s got you so fired up?”

“A rogue toy.”

“You mean Deadpool?” Harley was secretly delighted that the man who smelled of body odor and old Mexican food who had somehow managed to snatch up her pudding's attention was going away, but she didn’t say it.

“Yeah. The little fucker figured out who Batman is, and he’s gonna spill unless I tell him how to get back to his home dimension.”

Oh, that was right. Joker didn’t want the Batman to go away. Harley had her sneaking suspicions why, but she desperately hoped it wasn’t true. It was hard enough that she spent half of her time in Arkham for him, but for his attention to be on the Bat for half of that-! She just wanted him to care about her. 

Wishful thinking. But how could she give him up when every one of his smiles made her feel alive? At least he read the poems she wrote for them. He really liked to point out where she broke meter.

“Are you gonna tell him?”

“Well, I would, but the fact is that I have no idea how to get him home and that he’s probably plain nutzo and just thinks he’s from another dimension.”

Harley blinked. “Just ‘probably’?”

“Well, when you live in a world where aliens, goths, and circus performers fight crime instead of police, you’re more inclined to believe weird things!” The Joker flung the wheel to the side, jamming the gas pedal just a bit further down.

She grabbed the seat beneath her a little more tightly as they went over a large bump. But the trees and scattered buildings that were flashing by were very familiar to her. “Wait, are we going to Arkham? Why?”

“You’ll see,” Joker chuckled.

__

Joan Leland was walking down the corridor, flipping through her notes. Peering into the rooms of one of the residents, she checked off a name. 

It had been quiet around here lately. The Riddler had been agitated ever since his recent recapture and had tried to escape, leaving a riddle to his location in the cuts on a guard’s back. It was rather useless when the attempt failed. He flipped her off from his room as she checked off his name on the list.

Then, the bite of steel against her neck, a hand grabbing her hand. She was pulled back around the corner where she was forced to face one of her old patients, and one of her greatest failings.

“Hiya, Doctah. Good to see you again!” The girl tossed her bleached blonde hair, giggling through her face paint.

“What do you want with me, Harleen?” she managed to spit out without stuttering

The Joker swung around, pinning the psychiatrist against the wall with his knife. His eyes, so unnaturally dark and light, and his pearly-white skin contrasted with his ugly yellow teeth and red lips almost made Leland cringe, but she was good at holding a straight face. “A lot of things. And we don’t have much time,” the clown replied.

“I won’t help you with anything!”

The Joker rolled his eyes, then smiled sardonically. “Oh, come on, Doctor. We’re trying to save lives this time!”

Leland blinked with a pursed brow. “What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you seen the news? Deadpool is holding up Bruce Wayne’s little charity pow-wow.”

“And what do I have to do with it?”

Harley sighed, putting her hands on her hips. “I remember you being smarter, Doc.”

“Deadpool’s actually Wade Wilson, didn’t you know?” The Joker raised an eyebrow. 

With a deep breath, Leland’s eyes widened. “How… do you know?”

“Because he lives with us, duh!” Harley giggled.

This was horrifying. Wade… Was a part of that awful cult? And was friends with the Joker? It was a strike from the blue.

She had thought he was doing so well. She had hoped-… She had hoped. Just another failure of hers. Another patient off to kill innocent people. How much of what he had told her was true, and what was a lie to make her ease her guard? 

Was she really that horrible of a doctor?

She gulped. “What do you want me to do?”

“You know Wade better than most, not that you have many people to compete with. We need you to tell us everything you know ‘bout him.”

“And what are you going to do with that information?”

“Convince him he’s crazy so I don’t need to crack inter-dimensional travel in the next thirty minutes.”

Leland didn’t like breaking the law. She didn’t like it one bit. But with a knife at her throat and lives on the line, it didn’t seem like she had a choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry is short needed to get this out of the way


	12. In Which the Joker Spills the Beans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested Listening:  
> Wires by the Neighborhood  
> Urges by Lucas King  
> Pożegnanie Małego Wojownika by Czesław Śpiewa  
> 100 Ways to Be a Good Girl by Skunk Anansie  
> Little Lion Man by Mumford and Sons  
> Ever After- After All by George Fenton  
> Bad Bad Things by Andrew Jackson Jihad  
> Angry Sea by Mother Mother
> 
> Compiled Playlist:  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8X_UbbTRrY2NN3JzDhSBx0ZBnLHYdJIv

There was only the tack of a cough on the silence. Jim twiddled his thumbs, Bruce was like a statue, and Deadpool melted over his chair.

His hand was getting sore as he clutched the remote close. He could almost fall asleep in the silence, he could almost let the remote slip from his hand. Then, he shook his head violently, like a dog, and cautiously exchanged the remote from hand to hand without releasing the button.

The room was too tense to speak. Too tense to ask when the guest of honor would arrive. Deadpool sighed, peeling himself from his chair and taking up one of his pistols with his left hand. 

Pace. Back, and forth. 

His mind was a firing ground of regret, determination, and guilt. Was he able to go back? Wade was still unscarred, he could still go back.

But those looks, out in the crowd. Those were the stares he hated. 

“Freak,” they cried.

“Monster,” they screamed.

“Crazy.”

“Irredeemable, irrational, insane.”

“How do you know I’m crazy? I’m the only sane man trapped in this nightmare,” Deadpool would say to himself some days. He was a masterful painter amidst blind men, who could neither enjoy nor understand him. 

“Why bother with painting? What use does it have?”

They would see the use if they could see the art he wove. Deadpool was here to entertain, but not for them. They couldn’t open their eyes. 

Someone across the room started whistling. So Deadpool raised up his pistol and shot him. His head popped open like a cherry between teeth as he slumped to the ground. And Deadpool sighed.

“What does it take for people to be on time nowadays? I swear. Do you think he got lost, Brucie-boy?”

“Wayne Manor isn’t the most obscure hole in Gotham,” Bruce murmured.

Deadpool was getting increasingly erratic as time went on. Bruce could only pray that the Joker would save the day.

Another thing added to the list of things he never thought he’d say.

The approaching purr of a motor, which hightened to a growl, then a roar. The squeal of rubber against asphalt. 

Then a pregnant pause.

The Joker burst into the room, and the entire crowd drew back, before inching forward with the curiosity most deadly to felines.

“Where is Deadpool?” The Joker smirked coyly as Harley held a shotgun to the crowd.

The man in red and black parted the tides of attendants most easily. “The guest of honor!” Deadpool cried, switching the remote from hand to hand as if lifting a kitten by the scruff. “What held you up?”

“Oh, traffic was horrible.”

“I can only imagine. Now-” Deadpool raised his gun to the Joker’s cheek, pressing against the skin drawn up by the Joker’s eternal grin. “Tell me.”

“Magic word?”

The man smiled under his mask before stuttering out “B-b-b-b-” 

“Okay, stop.” The Joker waved his hand slightly. “Well, it’s a very complicated process, first you need to, uh, get one of these guns, point it to your chin, and then-”

He was cut off by a blow to the teeth from the butt of the gun. “Tell me how to get home, bitch. TELL ME!” His voice trailed off. “Do you even know?”

Harley moved to take a shot, but Deadpool threw away his gun, grabbed up the clown’s hair, spun him to face her. “Wouldn’t do that, Juliet.” 

“Wade, Wade, Wade…”

Bruce’s eyes widened as the Joker began cackling where Deadpool held him.

Of course. He had known. He just hadn’t admitted it to himself. It was so obvious.

“Of course I know. It’s just a hop, skip, and a jump from here. You’ve always belonged in Gotham. Look,” He waved at Harley, who drew out a fat stack of papers from under her blouse. “I dug up your medical records. We can’t check fingerprints, of course, you don’t have them anymore, but I think you’ll find the story familiar. You just couldn’t admit it to yourself.”

Wade paused. He inched forward, the Joker still limp in his grasp. He snatched papers up in his teeth before throwing the Joker onto the floor. The clown fell back into the crowd of people, and Harley rushed in to help him up.

Wade couldn’t believe what he was reading. It was his life story, as far as he could tell. In much fancier language.

Went to the doctor several times for broken arms, bruises, other things as a child. No checkups for a couple of years. Cancer diagnosis. That sounded like his medical history. But that couldn’t prove anything, there must be something that-

He paused in his flipping through the documents. A birth certificate. Ellie’s. 

His daughter.

 

Was…

 

Was he crazy?

 

Flip, flip, flip.

 

An autopsy of a ten year old girl.

 

Dead by a gunshot to the head.

 

 

“Are you afraid?” The Joker whispered from Wade’s shoulder, just quiet enough to exclude all else from the exchange, but louder than a scream in the night.

“Afraid of what you can trust? Her death, you couldn’t take it. You could have stopped it, but you didn’t. So you forgot about it. Built a world you could return to her.”

The man’s breath was rattly against Wade’s ear.

“Now. What will you do?”

His hand trembled as he turned another page with his teeth.

His knuckles were white and trembling for how hard he clutched the remote in his hand.

Then, he let the papers fall. They fluttered like the corpses of doves, and sprawled out like so many wings. 

He raised his arm. And let the remote fall.

Silence, save for the clatter of the plastic thing. Of course it was a fake. 

Deadpool turned around, alone, surrounded by staring eyes. He picked up his handgun from the ground, feeling the cold steel in his hand.

“Better take me in, officer,” he said, looking at Jim Gordon. 

Bruce got one last look at Wade's face as he pulled off his mask. His smile was like a kiss in the dark. His eyes were the electric blue of a butterfly's wing.

Then he raised his gun to his chin and pulled the trigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, dear readers, this is the crossroad. I have two options.
> 
> Either I end the story with an epilogue chapter, Deadpool being cemented in this universe as a particularly tragic member of this Batman's Rogue gallery. I could do some follow up stories with character studies, maybe some hurt heal between bruce and wade. Other things like that, if yall want it. Or, I can have Bruce figure out the joker was lying, do some research into dimensional travel, and get wade back home. What do you guys want?


	13. In Which We Ponder the Aftermath (Epilogue-ish)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Suggested Listening:
> 
> Miss Mysterious by Set It Off  
> Viva La Vida by Coldplay  
> House of the Rising Sun by The Animals  
> Have You Ever Seen the Rain? by Creedence Clearwater Revival  
> Laughing by The Guess Who  
> Time in a Bottle by Jim Croce  
> Nearly Witches (Ever Since We Met) by Panic! At the Disco
> 
> Compiled Playlist:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL8X_UbbTRrY0wJM7LisG3YN11tbKvnfPP

And so it came crashing down. Bruce had sat there, quietly, while the body of Wade had been carried off on a stretcher, his limp hands in cuffs. The blood pooled around his head, spilling down his neck. And then he was gone through the doors.

The Joker tried to close off enthusiastically, but he faltered mid-sentence as Harley laid her hand on his shoulder and shook her head. So, he shrugged, and they slipped away the parade of the police officers and first responders who had rushed in as soon as the threat was passed filtered through the doors.

Jim Gordon was already seeing everything over as the single casualty of the night was taped off in the corner of the room.

Bruce finally stripped off the bomb around his neck, and picked up the papers off of the floor. The name ‘Wade Wilson’ had been splattered with the man’s blood, like a lipstick smudge on a letter. 

With a scan, he managed to absorb the information of the man’s life, and although it was a pang in his heart, he couldn’t give him any more sympathy than one who had caused so many deaths deserved.

But, he had been manipulated by the Joker, his illness taken advantage of and his abilities abused to their breaking point. The man only wanted to see his daughter again in the world she resided in. He could only join her in death it seemed, and with Wade’s nature, that hope was well out of reach.

To heal forever seemed a blessing. But a part of life was to hurt, to grow, and to die. Who knew how old Wade really was, how far he would be stretched until whatever threads of his mind still intact would snap?

He needed help, help that he had been avoiding. 

Still. Something didn’t sit right. Something clawed at his stomach. Something was off.

However, it was nothing enough to prod him to action for a few weeks.

While Wade rotted away. He tore away at himself, and healed himself, and tore away at himself once more. His body refused to let him die despite anything that he desired. 

He didn’t need to eat, so he didn’t need to get up at all. He let himself become one with the floor until the staff realized that he flushed his food down the toilet whenever they weren’t looking. Then. They kept him restrained on a bed with an IV. He didn’t need it. He didn’t want it. The aching, hollow, carved out feeling in his gut gradually could become like a constant throb, reminding him in each moment of his horrible, unending torture of living.

How could he not sink into misery? How could he not? He had spent every moment of his life fighting against the idea that he was insane, and to find that- His friends, his life, his accomplishments, Ellie… Were burned away like a mirage in the glare of reality.

Words flicked through his ears. He stared at the television screen. Leland tried to talk to him. Then she stopped.

It made sense, in a deranged way. They would torture him like this. They would, of course. You’d torture him like this, letting the earth fall out from under him for your entertainment. You would, wouldn’t you? With each page read, his fate was sealed.

Still. Something didn’t sit right. Something clawed at his stomach other than hunger. Something was off.

Bruce finally satiated the itch in his mind on a quiet afternoon in the Batcave. Nothing was happening, so he picked up the stack of medical records once more, brushing his finger over the stain of dark, muddy brown that marred the name across the front.

He flicked through it as he had before. All of the thoughts he had had before passed by. The tragedy of it all. If only he had-

With a start, Bruce stood up. He paused, breathing in, making sure he had seen what he thought he had seen. And then he attacked his computer, digging through the files until he unearthed-

Yes. He knew he’d seen that handwriting before. It was the Joker’s, slanted to the left rather than the right as usual. 

Whether that meant Wade was from an alternate universe or not, he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that the Joker was lying. 

And he would find the truth and find Wade the ending he deserved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s where this story will end. Sorry if it ain’t the happiest, but it was the one it was destined for. If you want a second installment where Brucie builds an inter-dimensional portal or rings up the flash and runs through Marvel with Wade, feel free to let me know. It'd be a lot more light-hearted. I like this story, and wouldn’t mind returning in a month or two. Thank you for staying on this crack-fueled ride for a while, and sorry the last chapter is so short. It’s more of an epilogue, really.

**Author's Note:**

> Suggestions are welcome, love y'all. Tell me if you spot any mistakes, whatever. I know, this is weird, but I needed to write this.
> 
> ALSO HEAR THEM SING WATCH THEM BURN IS DEAD LEAVE ME ALONE GUEST KUDOS


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